


here (in your arms)

by Lissy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissy/pseuds/Lissy
Summary: "Kakashi regards her for a moment. “You’re not like other civilians.”Hari shrugs. “I wasn’t always a civilian,” she admits. “I’ve never been a ninja, but I’ve seen my share of combat.”I’ve seen friends killed in front of me.I’ve been powerless to stop it.The weight of the world has been on my shoulders, and miraculously I’m still standing.Sometimes I don’t know why.I’m not sure if I deserve to.Why me?She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to."Or, Hari and Kakashi meet when they're both dealing with things, and one night will change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Can Your Friends Do This?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6480364) by [Watermelonsmellinfellon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watermelonsmellinfellon/pseuds/Watermelonsmellinfellon). 



> So I read a few of the responses for Tsume Yuki's genie prompt and particularly 'Can Your Friends Do This?' inspired me with ideas of femHarry/Kakashi. This is one such brain child.
> 
> Feedback will be much appreciated! :)

Chapter 1

Hatake Kakashi doesn’t really frequent bars.

It’s not that he can’t handle his liquor or anything. He’s a seasoned jounin, after all, and sometimes the job requires both alcohol and keeping a level head. But the whole bar scene isn’t really his thing. As a matter of fact, some colleagues (and Team 7) and clients aside, human interaction as a whole isn’t really his thing.

Occasionally he’ll join his fellow jounin for a few drinks, but that’s because Gai won’t stop singing about the Flames of Youth until he gives in, and he’s already had too many complaints from his neighbors about noise ordinances.

Tonight is one such night. Kakashi sits at the bar, partially ignoring Gai’s prideful boasting about his student Neji’s recent jounin promotion. It only makes him think about his own students, and how he’d failed them. Sasuke defected and is now under the tutelage of the creepiest sannin. Sakura is his only student to make it to chunin, but the fact of the matter is that he cannot claim her successes as being a result of his teaching. And Naruto?

He’d failed his sensei’s son most of all.

Kakashi knocks back another cup of sake. It burns going down, but that’s okay. Sometimes he needs that burn to take the edge off; to remind him that he’s still alive.

“I will never understand how you eat and drink without anyone seeing your face.”

Kakashi turns to see Asuma taking the seat next to him. The other jounin lights a cigarette and takes a puff.

“It’s a talent,” Kakashi mutters.

Asuma shakes his head in amusement. They sit in relative silence as Gai’s exuberant cries in the background get louder. The bar is full and buzzing with activity. Every time Asuma turns his attention longingly towards Kurenai, Kakashi finishes another drink.

It’s after his sixth round of sake that he notices her. She’s seated at the other side of the bar next to three medium bottles of plum sake and a half-eaten order of karaage. She’s beautiful with her pale skin and long, unruly black hair.

As if sensing his eyes on her, she looks up and their eyes meet.

It’s disgustingly cliché, but her eyes are the greenest he’s ever seen. They stare at each other long enough for him to raise his sake. She blinks before a smirk dances across her face and she raises her own.

They down the sake, and she stares at him as she licks a few drops off her lips. Kakashi follows the movements of her tongue with interest, and he sets down his glass and abruptly stands up.

Asuma blinks in surprise, but then he follows Kakashi’s line of sight and lets out a bark of laughter. “Who woulda thought Sharingan no Kakashi can be as human as the rest of us?”

Kakashi casually flips him off, but otherwise says nothing and stalks towards the woman that caught his eye.

He notes that the attraction he feels towards her is clearly mutual as she trails her eyes over him, briefly scanning his hitai-ate and jounin flak jacket before focusing on his face. She doesn’t really pay attention to his mask, not like most other civilians do (and it’s pretty obvious that she’s not a kunoichi2, considering that he can feel miniscule chakra levels). Instead, she stares into his one visible eye, and in that moment he feels like she’s judging his very soul.

She must find whatever it is that she’s looking for because her foot kicks at the stool next to him in an open invitation. Kakashi sits and deftly orders another round of sake. They’re both quiet as they drink in companionable silence.

She turns to him after she licks sake from her lips. He finds it very distracting. “Hari,” she says softly, extending her hand.

It’s an odd name, foreign and exotic, but he already guessed that she was not from Konoha.

He stares at it for a moment before grasping it with his own, oddly pleased at how warm her hand feels. “Kakashi,” he returns gruffly. He nods towards the empty bottles. “Don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow?”

Hari smirks, but there’s a hard edge to it. “Not in the morning, no.” Her eyes flash darkly. “Tonight is all about forgetting.”

Kakashi takes a moment to study her further. He could tell she was beautiful from across the room, and it’s certainly no different up close and personal, but he can see something else about her. There’s a harshness in her eyes, a despair that he can only relate all too well to. Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to her; he can sense a kindred spirit. Misery fucking loves company, after all.

“Want some help with that?”

Hari lets out a bark of laughter, and it immediately softens her expression. He doesn’t take offense, knowing she’s laughing more at his bold words than him, but he also knows that if he takes her to bed she would be making other noises throughout the night. He says as much to her, and she eyes him and lets her eyes trail over his body. Kakashi leans back a little, not at all abashed or ashamed. He looks good, and he knows it.

Her eyes snap back up to his face, and there goes that ridiculously endearing little smirk on her face again. She worries her lower lip before she gives a swift nod and stands up. Hari reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a few bills, carelessly throwing them on the table and walking out.

His gaze falls downward, and he is delighted to note that her ass looks as good as the rest of her. It sways as she exits the bar, and Kakashi can only stare at it slightly mesmerized.

A sharp whistle catches his attention, and he turns to see a slightly baffled Asuma raise a glass to him. He smirks in amusement and nods towards his fellow ninja before he follows Hari.

He leads her to a nearby inn, pleasantly buzzed but still alert and vigilant because he’s a ninja and a little paranoia never hurt anyone. Kakashi goes into the room first, and as soon as Hari walks inside, he closes the door and pushes her up against it. He pulls his mask down and before she can think too much, his mouth is on hers. She gives a breathy little moan that goes straight to his cock, and he presses against her body.

God, it’s been too long. Her hands reach up to unzip his flak jacket, and he lets her. Clothes suddenly become too bothersome, too much of a barrier, and then they’re stripping each other. He catches sight of the small, implanted birth control chip on her right hip, and is very happy to see it because he only has one condom on him and he plans on taking her so much more than just once tonight.

Soon they’re both naked and Kakashi wastes no time in grabbing her by the thighs and hitching her up against the door. It takes some maneuvering to guide his cock in her, but he finally does and fuck it’s so perfect. She wraps her legs around his waist and he thrusts in and out of her in short bursts that feel just right.

Hari moans in his ear, her voice high every time he thrusts in. Her toes curl and she grabs his muscular shoulders for leverage. And then he hits that spot inside of her and she clenches around his cock tight enough that he lets out a curse.

“Like that,” she breathes, and her short nails dig into his skin a little as his pace picks up and she’s left enjoying the ride.

“Fuck,” he groans, and his voice goes so low that Hari thinks she might cum just from that.

“Don’t stop!” she pleads. Her eyes are practically rolling into the back of her head and she feels herself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. One of his hands sneaks in between them and flicks her clit and then she’s tumbling into completion, a long groan escaping her lips.

Kakashi feels her clench around him, but that doesn’t stop him. His thrusts pick up in speed, and she lets out even more higher-pitched cries as she cums again.

When Kakashi cums, his mouth finds the smooth column of her neck and he bites and sucks at the skin.

It doesn’t take long for him to recover, and he almost gently put her down.

Hari is still a little breathless, but then she lets out a small laugh. “We didn’t make it to the bed,” she muses lightly.

Kakashi looks at the still-made bed and then looks back at her. “You don’t have anywhere to be in the morning,” he responds, and Hari’s eyebrows shoot upwards before she dissolves into peals of laughter.

(Before the night is over, they’ve definitely made use of the bed and other surfaces.)

***

Hari wakes up with a jolt. It takes a few moments before her eyes clear and she’s able to recognize that no, she’s not in the Malfoy’s dungeon anymore, and no, Fred and Sirius and a bunch of other people aren’t screaming at her for causing their deaths.

Despite it being seven years ago, Hari Potter still isn’t over the war. And yeah, she’s got more reason than most to still be hung up over it, but Hari hates still feeling so weak after all of this time. She’s tired of waking up screaming, and she’s tired of always feeling like people are after her. Paranoia was most definitely her friend during the war while she was on the run, but the war is over.

Everyone around her seemed to be healing, putting one foot in front of the other, and building themselves back up. Everyone except her.

She takes in a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. Counts to ten, and when that doesn’t work starts listing all of the ingredients in Dreamless Sleep. That’s when her partner from last night makes himself known. Honestly, Hari expected him to take off before morning came. Maybe it’s a little unfair to him, but she thought he was the bang ‘em and ditch ‘em type.

She turns to look at him. He already has his mask back in place, and he stares at her with an almost bored expression. There’s an orange book in his hand, and Hari has been in Konoha long enough to know exactly what that book is. While most other females would be very upset by the blatant porn reading (and she’s been in Konoha long enough to see self-righteous female fury at the series), Hari is personally amused and even a little intrigued by it.

“Is that where you learned to do that thing with your tongue?” she asks wryly, an innocent expression on her face.

“I don’t need this to tell me what a woman likes,” he replies in mock offense, his one open eye narrowing slightly.

Hari laughs a little. This is perhaps the weirdest morning after she’s ever experienced, but she doesn’t mind. It’s better than some of the painfully awkward mornings she’s had to endure. And some small part of her is glad to not be alone.

She glances at the clock on the wall; 11:27 am.

With a sigh, Hari stands on unsteady feet and makes her way to the bathroom. She catches her reflection in the mirror. The bags under her eyes aren’t terribly noticeable, but she’s too aware that they’re there. Her long black hair is tangled and wild, but that’s not necessarily out of the norm for her.

No, what makes her pause is how world-weary she looks. She’s only twenty-five years old, but the look in her eyes makes her seem so much older.

She hesitates for a second and turns back, somewhat amused that Kakashi was very obviously staring at her naked backside. “You’re welcome to join me,” she offers.

Hari doesn’t wait for an answer and instead walks into the shower.

The hot water is exactly what she needs to relax, and for a few minutes she simply enjoys the water cascading down her back. Hari washes her body and hair almost mechanically, as if she’s just a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings.

The thought makes her sneer, and she banishes it before she can go down that rabbit hole.

The shower curtain is yanked back suddenly, and Kakashi steps in beside her. She didn’t really pay attention last night (much too busy doing pleasurable things) but now she has the chance to study his body. He’s obviously a ninja; his chest is nicely sculpted and he’s all lean muscles and beautiful definition. There are an assortment of faded scars on him, but that doesn’t bother her. It makes her think of her own scars, and how she got them.

She prefers not to dwell on that.

Hari reaches up and fingers the harsh scar going down his eye. She doesn’t quite know why he lets her, but he does, and she traces it gently.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

Kakashi says nothing, but she can see the question in his eye.

She gestures at his scars. “For your service,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It can’t be easy, this path you’ve chosen. And it’s often thankless—people are greedy and they expect the world from you and don’t care what you have to sacrifice or do for their sake. And you do it anyways.”

She knows all too well what that feels like. For years she was either the Wizarding world’s messiah or pariah, depending on the Daily Prophet, and it’s not fair. She’s sacrificed so much to keep everyone safe, and most of the people didn’t even deserve it. They were only too content to let someone else take care of their problems, regardless of the fact that she was a child when Voldemort returned and only on the cusp of adulthood when she killed him for good.

She’s lost more and bled more than most. It was with the help of her friends that she was able to fulfill the prophecy, and even then it still nearly broke her. She’s keeping herself together by a thread, and very much jaded. Some days are easier, and others not so much.

Hari doesn’t know him, but she saw in his eyes last night that Kakashi is pretty much the same. It’s what caught her attention.

Kakashi regards her for a moment. “You’re not like other civilians.”

Hari shrugs. “I wasn’t always a civilian,” she admits. “I’ve never been a ninja, but I’ve seen my share of combat.”

_I’ve seen friends killed in front of me._

_I’ve been powerless to stop it._

_The weight of the world has been on my shoulders, and miraculously I’m still standing._

_Sometimes I don’t know why._

_I’m not sure if I deserve to._

_Why me?_

She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to. He understands, and leans forward to capture her lips with his.

(They spend the rest of the shower not talking and not bathing. The water is cold by the time they’re clean.)

***

“I’m pregnant.”

Hari’s eyes widen before she smiles. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am,” she says. “I guess it just took so long for you and Ron to admit to liking each other that him getting you up the duff is slightly shocking. I honestly expected you both to start having kids in another decade or so. Then again, he is a Weasley.”

“Hari!” Hermione scolds, but there’s a playful glint in her eyes and a smile on her face.

“How’d he take it?” Hari asks.

Hermione’s eyes soften further, if that’s even possible. “Really well,” she admits with a tenderness that makes Hari’s heart ache.

She’s happy for her friends, tremendously so, but that doesn’t stop bad memories from coming to the surface. As if aware of the dark turn her thoughts took, Hermione suddenly seems too aware of her happiness, and she tries to tone it down but Hari won’t let her.

“Have you thought of any names?” she asks, bright and maybe a little fake.

Hermione doesn’t quite buy it, but doesn’t voice it. “We were thinking of Rose for a girl or Hugo for a boy.”

Hari laughs and teases, “Twins run in the family. What if you’re having two?”

Hermione blanches as if the thought never occurred to her, and Hari laughs more genuinely. “That’s not funny.”

“It is on my end,” Hari insists.

Talking with Hermione almost always brings a sense of calmness to Hari. She doesn’t regret leaving England, not one bit, but she does miss some parts of home. She would’ve stayed in the Wizarding world for her friends, but they knew staying was slowly killing her. Hermione was the one to suggest an entirely different country for her to get her fresh start.

Although keeping in touch via mirror calls isn’t exactly the same, Hari will take that over nothing.

“Will you be the godmother?” Hermione asks suddenly.

Hari stills. She stares at Hermione in shock. “Me?” she whispers. “I…I don’t know if you want me, Hermione.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione replies crisply. “You’re the greatest woman I know. Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“I’m not exactly…godmother material,” Hari says quietly.

Hermione shakes her head sharply, her brown eyes flashing angrily. “If anything is to happen to Ron or myself, you would be the very best person to care for our child. Andromeda can’t see that because she’s a bitter woman too blinded by her pain to respect her daughter and son-in-law’s wishes, and there will come a day when she has to answer to that.”

Hari ducks her head and bites her lip hard. Teddy is a sore subject for her. She wants more than anything to be a part of his life as his godmother, but his grandmother had strictly objected. “You’re too dangerous to be around him,” the woman had said coldly.

It stung more than anything, and part of Hari thought she was right. She was very dangerous to be around—the people she loved the most tended to get hurt. Even Ron and Hermione hadn’t been immune, but they’d still stuck with her regardless.

“I…” Hari cuts herself off. Her throat is tight and she can feel the tears well up in her eyes.

Hermione smiles softly. “There’s a lot of people that I trust, but none more so than you, Hari,” she says.

One tear escapes, then two, and then she’s quietly crying because just what the fuck did she do to deserve such wonderful friends who still believed in her despite everything?

She wipes her tears away and nods. “I’d be honored,” she says thickly.

There’s nothing more to say after that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hari both enjoys and hates what she considers her post-war life. She finally has what she’s always wanted—some normalcy without any expectations or burdens. But it’s not how she’d imagined it. For so long she had so much to do, and the weight of the world was firmly on her shoulders. She had a war to win, people to protect, sacrifices to honor.

She won the war. (Not the one in her head.)

She protected her loved ones. (But not all of them. She can’t wash away the blood.)

She honored her parents’ sacrifices. (It’s not enough.)

At the height of her despair, Hermione had suggested Hari build a garden. “You have to work through your emotions,” the bright witch had said. “This will give you a peaceful place to retreat, and what better way to remember and reflect on the departed than to have a space dedicated for them?”

So, Hari had given herself the task of making the best garden that she could. For many years, she’d associated gardening with another task forced on her by the Dursleys to “earn her keep” and grew resentful of the hobby. She’d hated Herbology on sheer principle. If not for Neville, she never would have discovered that she enjoyed tending to plants. She’ll never develop a passion for it—try as she might, she will never forget the long summer hours under the grueling sun weeding and mowing without water or shade—but she can find some peace in gardening for a few hours.

Her garden is one of her greatest treasures. It’s in her backyard, safely ensconced behind a few sakura trees. There’s a stone pathway leading from the back door with forget-me-nots and wildflowers on either side of the stones and it trails all the way to a small pond in the center of the garden. She’d put a gliding bench off to the side next to a decent sized stone.

It is her very own memorial stone, engraved with the names of every person she loved and lost.

There are many different flowers here.

Chrysanthemums. Morning glories. Daffodils. Daisies, harebells, pansies, and lilies. Her garden tells her sad story, and it surprisingly brings her peace. She’d built it herself on a foundation of agony and sorrow, and she took the ugly shards of her fractured self and made something beautiful with it.

Because sometimes the only way around suffering is to go straight through it.

Hari wakes up exhausted, and very sore. She rubs her lower abdomen to ease the cramps, and then journeys her way to the bathroom. She’s not terribly surprised to see a little blood when she wipes. Although she’s not expecting it, her flow has been irregular since the war. There are months where she will not have a period, and there are more months where she will.

Hari takes a quick shower, and then puts a liner in her underwear and downs a mild pain-reliever for the cramps. It works in mere minutes, and she sighs in content. The pain isn’t unbearable, nor is it even terribly painful, but the throbbing ache will only be a distraction, and she doesn’t need that.

Harry frowns slightly. Her stomach churns a little, her nervousness making her nauseous. A part of her wants to go right back to sleep, or maybe even go back to that bar and drink herself stupid. She really shouldn’t; Hermione’s already given her all sorts of lectures about alcohol dependency.

Hari drinks on a very occasional basis. She’s been around Vernon’s sister, Marge, to see firsthand how easy it is to become an alcoholic. There was a period of about four months when she was only seven that tragedy struck Marge, and the woman had come to temporarily live at Number 4 Privet Drive.

As Hari was charged with the task of maintaining the house (to earn her keep, of course), every weekend Hari would be allowed to go into Petunia and Vernon’s bedroom to dust and vacuum. She was also instructed to clean Marge’s room, and she would fill nearly two trash bags full of wine and liquor bottles alone.

She’d heard Vernon and Petunia fighting about it on more than one occasion.

_“She’s just wasting away here, Vernon!”_

_“Pet, she’s my sister. I can’t just kick her out! She’s just lost her fiancé, for goodness sake.”_

_“I’m not telling you to kick her out, but all she does is weep and drink. Be firm with her, Vernon, or she will drink herself to death, mark my words.”_

It wasn’t until Marge screamed loud enough to alert several neighbors (to Petunia’s mortification) and tried to attack his wife with an empty bottle of wine that Vernon managed to put his foot down about Marge’s alcohol consumption. The woman had gained thirty pounds and the stench of wine and sherry clung to her very skin.

No, Hari had promised herself long ago that she wouldn’t be anything like the Dursleys, and that included becoming a drunkard like Marge.

But having experienced her own tragedy, Hari understands all too well the lure of drinking until the pain is gone. She’s wanted to drink and drink and drink until she can’t remember anything about the war, anything about the lives lost or the sacrifices made. It’s those very sacrifices that stop her from going down that road.

Last month was…different. She cringes a little. Hari doesn’t do well with antiversaries, and February has been a difficult month for many, many years. If there was a way for her to sleep all of February and wake up in March, she’d take it. But there’s not, and so every February, on the seventeenth to be specific, she allows herself to drink without reservations.

She expected this past February to be the same. Find a bar, get smashed, nurse a hangover the next day, and try to get on with life. She did find a bar, and she did get smashed.

But she hadn’t expected him. Kakashi. One of the sexiest ninja in Konoha, Mr. Sex-On-Legs.

His offer to help her forget wasn’t quite expected, but certainly not unwelcome. And it helped. She did forget, or rather the dilemma was put out of her head temporarily. She was much too focused on the way his hands and his mouth and his body seemed to make hers sing under his ministrations.

Hari shakes her head to rid herself of that thought. It seems like nearly a month isn’t enough to forget his skilled fingers or his deep voice. She’s seen him once or twice around the village, but hasn’t sought him out or tried to talk to him. They’d parted on good terms, but there wasn’t an opening for more…relations.

Which is probably a good thing because, really, a couple of encounters over the span of a few hours should not make her want him, ache for him, again.

Hari sighs and walks into her bedroom. It’s bigger than her old room at Privet Drive, and much more welcoming than the tent she’d used during the war. She has a nice queen-sized bed pushed against one side of the room. Mrs. Weasley had knitted a wonderful red and gold quilt that she liked to make her bed with. There’s a nightstand just off to the side with a box of tissues and an alarm clock on it. Her dresser is next to the closet, and she has a desk by her bedroom window.

Her oak desk is nice and sturdy, and there are quite a few things on it. There’s plenty of books, courtesy of Hermione, and there’s some parchment and quills and an inkpot. Three frames are off to the right; one of her with Ron and Hermione, in their school uniforms and laughing at some ridiculous joke Seamus Finnegan said. The other two photos held pictures of babies; one moving and one still photo.

The moving picture was gifted to her from Remus and Tonks shortly after Teddy was born. Teddy is only two weeks old in the photo, and briefly opens his eyes to look at her before going back to snoozing. His hair turns a light pink. Hari looks at the photo, feeling that too familiar sharp pang in her heart.

She was beyond surprised when Remus had asked her to be his godmother, too sure that their argument about Remus’ attempt to stray from his wife and child had been a little too far. But he’d forgiven her for what she’d said, had seen the truth in her words and accepted them. When she saw his spirit shortly before giving herself up to Voldemort, he’d asked her to look after Teddy.

Hari wants to, more than anything in the world, and honestly never expected to be rebuffed by Andromeda. She didn’t want to take Teddy away from his grandmother, but rather she wanted to be there for him the way she wished Sirius could have been for her. She still wants that, still craves it.

“My grandson is the only person I have left,” Andromeda had said, her voice harsh and frigid, but her eyes spoke of despair and anguish. “You’ve already taken away my daughter and son-in-law. You won’t take him either, Potter.”

Merlin, that was seven years ago and it still hurts. It still cuts deeply, almost worse than the torture Bellatrix had inflicted. Almost, but not quite. But then again, the Black sisters had each taken successful shots at Hari that left her wounded and bleeding.

She stares at the photo, a deep sadness seeping into her very bones. Her eyes turn towards the still photo. No, she can’t think about it. Won’t.

Hari licks her lips, sits at the desk, and uncaps the inkpot. She reaches for a quill and hesitates for a moment before she takes a deep breath. Nervousness grips her tight, and her stomach churns with nausea. It’s just a letter, she thinks to herself. You can write a letter.

Without another thought, she puts the quill to the parchment and writes.

_Dear Teddy,_

_I recently found out that Hermione is going to have a baby! That means that by the time the baby starts Hogwarts, you’ll be a seventh year. If you’re anything like your father, you’ll be Head Boy. In fact, I have no doubt that’s exactly what you’ll be._

_I’m sure your grandmother has told you many tales of your mother, but I’m not certain if she’s told you of your father. He was one of my father’s best friends, and I was lucky enough to call him an uncle. Remus Lupin was one of the smartest, kindest men I’ve ever met._

_He helped my father and their friends create a map of Hogwarts. They were able to get into all sorts of mischief without getting caught because of it. Nobody really suspected it because he was the “good one” of his group, which isn’t necessarily a lie, but he was definitely better at keeping his prankster nature under wraps than my father or Sirius._

_He was a Gryffindor, like me and my parents. Your mother was a Hufflepuff, but there are merits to each house. I’m sure you will find great friends in whichever house you end up with. I certainly did._

_I wish things had been different and I could’ve been there to watch over you as you grew up. I’m sorry that all you have are these letters. There are reasons why I can’t be there, but I need you to know that you are always on my mind. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think of you. I wish your parents were still here; you deserved to be raised by them. They deserved to raise you._

_I feel kind of silly sending these letters when I don’t even know if you’ll ever see them, but I can’t give up. Your parents asked that I help take care of you. I’m sorry that I’ve failed them, and you by extension. But I know that your grandmother will do everything in her power to keep you safe, and healthy, and happy._

_Just know that without a doubt I love you, and if it were possible these letters wouldn’t be necessary. I pray, and hope, that one day we can meet face to face, and I can tell you all of these wonderful things about your parents in person. Maybe one day it’ll happen._

_Your godmother,  
Aunt Hari_

Hari sniffles and sets down her quill to dry her eyes. She folds the letter neatly, and then places it into an envelope. She seals it and puts it to the side, waiting for her owl Artemis to return from a hunt. She doesn’t know if the letter will reach Teddy, but she’s tired of sending letters to Andromeda and trying to convince the woman to let her be a part of her godson’s life.

Maybe one day things will change.

Hari makes herself a cup of tea to calm her nerves. She ends up drinking four cups before she’s feeling less anxious, and then has to rush to the bathroom before her bladder explodes. Her mind is so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice that she’s stopped bleeding altogether.

And then she goes to her garden. She sits on the gliding chair and stares at her little memorial stone with a look that’s halfway longing and halfway guilty. She stares there well into the evening.

***

It’s been just under a month since his night with Hari and Kakashi still thinks of it.

He’s not really the type to be hung up over anyone, never mind a woman he picked up in a bar. Ever since Rin died, Kakashi’s been firm about not letting anyone get that close again. He won’t admit it, least of all to himself, but he’s scared to be that vulnerable again. It’s why he constantly failed teams. It’s why he ignores Anko’s advances. Attachment equals pain and fuck if he’s going through that shit again.

And then Team 7 happened.

The plan had been to fail them like he did with all the others. He didn’t care that he got the last loyal Uchiha, or the top kunoichi, or that the dead last was a dead ringer for his beloved sensei and Kushina-nee-chan. Well, maybe he cared a little more about that last one, but it also left a source of deep bitterness in his core that he staunchly ignored most of the time.

Nevertheless, he’d showed up on the day of their real genin exam nearly five hours late with the complete expectation that he’d be leaving the training field the same way he’d arrived—without a team.

But they’d showed potential.

They’d showed promise.

 _They can do better_ , he’d thought to himself. They won’t become his old team. They won’t.

He should’ve stuck to the plan.

(He didn’t, and he’d failed, failed, _failed_.)

Kakashi’s eyes drift to the two pictures that hung on his otherwise bare walls. Half of the people in the pictures were dead, but they never left his mind. He can push them to the back of his mind on certain occasions, like when he’s on a mission, but he still always thinks of them.

Always, without fail.

Until that night with Hari.

He slept with her because she’d caught his eye, and it’d been a while. He hadn’t been expecting anything more than a night of mutual pleasure, and he certainly got that. But he’d also gotten more.

She’s not like other women he knows. Granted, he’s not well acquainted with civilian women, but he knows kunoichi. She acts like neither and both at the same time. Hari is a bit of an enigma.

Her gratitude had surprised him greatly, though he didn’t show it. Her assessment had been insightful and accurate. Her tone, and subsequent admission, spoke of personal experience. He already knew that she had faced danger, had seen and felt the old, faded scars on her back. He’d studied the romaji carved into her hand while she slept, and didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Her eyes that night showed a bitterness at the world that rivaled his own. It drew him to her like a moth to a flame. Her scars told a story of harsher times she’d endured.

The morning after, she woke with labored breathing and had laid in bed trembling. Whatever she’d faced in her life still haunted her, and fuck, Kakashi could relate to that.

But then she’d teased him. She hadn’t reacted with self-righteous fury at the Icha Icha novel. There were no harsh accusations of perverse behavior; just a twinkle in her eye, a hint of an impish smile that had his member stirring ever-so-slightly.

And then she got up, and invited him to the shower. She stood tall, walked to the bathroom without looking back.

The world tried to break her, but she didn’t let it.

She was scarred and jaded. Bent, but not broken. Not yet.

He finds it admirable, and distracting. Kakashi sits up with a sigh and walks to the bathroom. He needs a cold shower to take his mind off Hari and their night together. He doesn’t know the woman, only has his observations and instincts to go on, but his body doesn’t care. He still thinks of her.

The cold shower doesn’t help.


End file.
